


I'll Have You to Myself

by doodlestrudel



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Indie Music RPF, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Guilt, Hickeys, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Mild Smut, Self-Hatred, Song references, cookane, milex - Freeform, minimal dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4661664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlestrudel/pseuds/doodlestrudel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles doesn't think Alex knows what he does behind his back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Have You to Myself

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt for a drabble based on Joining the Dots. I originally was going to write it as Alex having the affair, but Rhanon_Brodie gave me the idea of making it be Miles. :) This is written in Alex's POV, though most of it is just his internal monologue. It's my first time writing in first person, rather than in third. Since Alex is from England and it's his POV, I chose to write in British English, rather than American. Lots of song references, mostly from Joining the Dots, but from some others as well. (Hopefully it's not too lame.) Enjoy! <33

2:45 a.m the clock reads.  
  
You're out again; said you needed to go meet with your manager and talk business. You think you're clever, you think your tracks are covered.  
  
But I know. I know exactly what you do when you leave me behind. I know you sleep in the afternoons so you can prowl into the night. I often try to think of what I did to make you want more than me. When did you decide that my love and (utterly pathetic) devotion to you weren't enough? Perhaps it were something I said; or didn't say. Everyone tells me it's not my fault, that you're just a dickhead; I'm wonderful and I deserve better.  
  
Their words don't ease my rampant mind, and I still sit and rip myself to shreds; hoping that you'll be home soon so you can sew me back together. You misplace a little piece of me each time, and your stitch work gets a little more messy; but I thank you all the same.  
  
I still watch you through a rose coloured lens. I still ask for your face to roll on my dream reel. I still curl into your warmth when you stumble into bed in the dead of night. I still let you make me yours after you've just come back from being his. I still pour my aching heart into your goodnight kisses.  
  
I still love you. I still love you. I still love you.  
  
I have become a disjointed wreck of contradictions. I want your games to end and have the hideous truth fall down on me. I want you to murmur your adoration for me into my ear and try to keep me in the dark forever. I want to stab you in the heart so you can get a glimpse of what you make me feel. I want to shower you in my love; for my kisses to soothe your guilt ridden conscience. I want to scream whenever you touch me; to snatch up your hand and grip it until it's broken. I want your gentle caress to lull me to sleep; to take me away from this nightmare.  
  
There's a fire blazing inside of me whenever my rage takes over. I put it out with my tearful sorrow.  
  
Matt informed me about you the other day, and about him. He was shocked when I admitted knowing already, and asked why I hadn't left you yet.  
  
“ _He's all I have these days _.” I told him. He was lying, though, weren't he? And I'm not right in the head, I'm making it all up. I can't believe a word they say, even when I've been confronted with the evidence myself.__  
  
I am so weak at the hands of your love; no matter how twisted it has become.  
  
Soon I'll go away on tour and pretend as if I don't despise the person who was once one of my best friends. Why am I so quick to forgive you; to excuse your behaviour, while I loathe him with my entire being? I want to sink my claws into him and tear him to pieces. (I'll teach him a lesson for ruining us; for touching what's mine.) I want to make a home within your arms and live there for eternity. (I'll tell myself it's all his fault so I can look you in the eye without feeling unbearably ill.)  
  
I hope you at least phone me before you hang up for him every night; I hope I'm still first in your mind. Whenever I'm feeling particularly humoured, I entertain the thought of telling you that we'll put ourselves on speaker and just have a joint call. Perhaps I would, if my blood didn't boil with hatred for that blue eyed bastard. (Of course you chose a blond with baby blues.)  
  
I hope you still think my muddy brown irises are beautiful. I miss the way you used to kiss my eyelids and make them twitch. (I miss when I was your one and only.)  
  
You come into the room, and I hear the thud of the shoes you kicked off hitting the wall. I know you're too lazy to untie them, and so they still have their makeshift bows made of the laces. I can feel you sinking down into the bed beside me, and I briefly think of feigning sleep. I barely consider it, and soon I'm inching myself into your open arms.  
  
I bury my face into your chest; inhaling deeply as you slip your hands into my hair. I grew it long for you, after you told me about a childhood crush on Jim Morrison. You love it, and I love the way you'll waste away an afternoon twisting strands of it around your fingers. Even now.  
  
You lift my face up by my chin and kiss me, and I try not to feel too bitter as I wonder how much of what I taste is you; and how much of it is him. The thought doesn't deter me from surrendering myself to you. I ignore the smell of smoke in your hair and allow you to devour me whole.  
  
“Missed you, love.” you mumble against my lips, and I shudder. Your voice alone lets me know that you're being sincere, and I can't figure out if I'm joyful or sickened. I want to ask why you'd go to him only to miss me while you were there, but I bite my tongue.  
  
“I missed you too.” I whisper, and the smile you give me breathes a fraction of life into my broken heart. I sigh as you press our lips together again, and I notice the way your kisses get sweeter on these nights. The way you silently pour your apologies into my mouth.  
  
You pull away to watch me, your thumb tracing over my jawline. My eyes flicker down and notice the bruise on your neck, and my heart clenches and fills with anguish. You cast me further into despair without even knowing it, but still I say nothing.  
  
I don't protest when you roll me flat onto the bed; nestled between my legs as your lips move along my throat. You scatter kisses over my bare chest; muttering praise and adoration for my body; for me. I close my eyes as you move lower, and I ignore the wave of nausea that hits me.  
  
I groan when you put your mouth on me; I try not to choke on the bile that rises in my throat. I ache with need for you, I burn with disappointment in myself. You moan as you work me to the edge, and I mirror you; though unsure if it's out of pain or pleasure. You pull off before I'm there, and tell me how sweet I taste as you crawl back up. A sick part of me wants to ask how you think he tastes in comparison, but you kiss me before my mouth can form the words.  
  
I wouldn't have said them anyway.  
  
You gasp as you fill me, and I whimper and claw at your back. Sex has become closer to love making recently, and I suspect it's your guilt bleeding through. Or maybe it's your way of distinguishing between the two of us. Matt told me how he said he fucks you like an animal, and you and I used to be very much the same way. I feel a twinge of it in me now, and I drag you down closer so I can sink my teeth into the bruise on your neck. You cry out, pulling at my hair as I suck and bite, marking you as mine once more.  
  
I know come tomorrow you'll claim the mark is entirely my own.  
  
Now it's different between us. You cradle me in your arms, you treat me so delicately. I still feel the passion you had before; and sometimes I think there's more now than there was then. You've even taken to telling me you love me during, and I never hesitate to moan it back to you just as fervently. Another pathetic habit of mine. I ignore the self loathing that eats away at me in favour of your hands on me; your breath on my nape and your cries and whispers of my name.  
  
I wait for the day you slip up and call out his instead of mine.  
  
We even still come together, and I wonder how we can be so in sync and yet so far away from each other. My body feels loose and languid, until my shame crawls under my skin and makes me itch. I refuse to scratch, I won't give it the satisfaction. You clean off my stomach and take me back into your arms; your hand petting at my hair before slipping lower to rub my back.  
  
We don't speak during this part, we never have. I find it remarkable how I still want to savour every little thing about you. The way your breathing evens out, the steadying of your heart beat. The feeling of your calloused fingertips drawing figure eights down my spine. It makes me shiver, and I only hold you tighter. We listen to the rain hitting the windows, and the intensity of it makes me think it's trying to prove a point. I know if I mentioned it, you'd call me your poet, then tell me to rest my mind.  
  
“I love you so much, Al.” you whisper.  
  
I can't determine if the feeling in my stomach is butterflies or my guts twisting. I don't know if there's a greater power, but if there is, I pray that you never speak those words to Jamie. I don't ever want him to feel your love. I tell myself that I can bear this as long as it's only sex, that if it never becomes more, we'll make it through. It's moments like this when I wish my mind hadn't insisted on joining the dots.  
  
“I love you too, Mi. So much that it hurts.”  


**Author's Note:**

> Find me over on [tumblr](http://prettyvisitorsinthebakery.tumblr.com)!


End file.
